


Worth Waking Up For

by umadoshi (Ysabet)



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Adopted Sibling Incest, Canon Disabled Character, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, POV First Person, Pre-Canon, no series knowledge required
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-23
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-22 06:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2497217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabet/pseuds/umadoshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Given some of the less-pleasant things you've dragged me out of bed for, I'm not gonna complain about you waking me up and begging for sex." I grinned. "Some things are worth losing sleep over."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>The teasing resulted in George tackling me as hard as she could--which wasn't that hard, since I was already on my back. She landed half on top of me with her hands on my biceps, like she could keep me pinned.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I smiled up at her, knowing she'd take my amusement in stride. Long, hard-won experience said that if she'd been trying to seriously wrestle me she would've planted a knee in my gut, and George's knees and elbows are <b>sharp</b>. I appreciated the restraint, even though the odds were she'd only refrained because knocking the wind out of a guy doesn't tend to do much for the mood.</i>
</p>
<p>And lo, there was smut.</p>
<p>Set a few years before <i>Feed</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth Waking Up For

**Author's Note:**

> Beta work by wildpear.
> 
> Content note: Georgia and Shaun are around 20 in this, but it also refers back to some experimental rough sex in their late teens.

The first thing I heard when I woke up was George asking, "Is this what it's like for guys?"

She sounded like she was in the middle of a conversation, which meant she'd been lying beside me in bed and talking to me for a little while. It's her version of a gentle alarm clock: if she wants me awake but it's not urgent, she'll come into my room and lie down with me, steal herself enough blanket to be comfortable, and start chatting. If any of what she says is important--or a question--she summarizes it for me when I wake up. A little weird, maybe, but a lot nicer than some of the ways I wake _her_ up, so I'm not going to gripe about it.

I rubbed my eyes and squinted at her. "Can I have some context? I heard 'Is this what it's like for guys?'"

"I feel like I'm going to scream if I don't get laid," she said--casually, like she was asking me to pass the salt.

That snapped me awake as fast as if she'd said there was a zombie in the room. I looked past her to check my clock display. It was barely five in the morning, and my room was faintly lit by false dawn creeping around the edges of my curtain. It meant I could see her, if not well, and it was dim enough that she wasn't in sunglasses, although I knew she'd be keeping her face averted from my window.

"I think it's the new implant," she continued. Our doctor had recommended switching to a different hormone dosage--something about how it'd deal just as well with cramps, which were her official (and equally genuine) reason for using it, but would interfere less with her moods. We hadn't paid too much attention to that part, since what the doctor had seemed to be getting at was "it won't kill your sex drive", and as far as I knew, her sex drive on the first implant had been basically the same as before she got it.

Except right now she was looking at me like she was starving. "I think it's not bothering to let my body know I can't get pregnant."

"I didn't see anything in the literature about it jacking your libido _up_ ," I said. I wasn't being facetious; George had made the choice, but we'd both read up on the differences between the old and new hormone cocktails before she'd decided to switch.

"I don't think it did. I used to get stupidly horny halfway through my cycle, and the old implant smoothed that out. We were so busy getting used to having sex that I didn't give it much thought at the time."

"And now your body didn't get the memo and you're stupidly horny?"

"It woke me up," she said, her unruffled tone giving way to aggravation. "Does that happen to you?"

"Sometimes it keeps me awake." I put a hand on her hip and slid it up her body, caressing one of her breasts through her top.

She made a noise that got my dick from "on the rise" to "raring to go" in half a second flat. George initiates sex plenty often--which is good, since otherwise I'd feel like a flaming perv with how often I want it--but there's a special something about her announcing she's got an itch that needs a good scratch _now_. The feel of her nipple hardening against my palm made me smile as I added, "Sometimes I have a tough time thinking about anything else."

"So what do you do?"

"You just want to hear me say it," I accused. George lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug. "If you're not around or not up for it? I think about you and jerk off. Is that what you want to hear?" I laid my fingertips on her lips and felt her silent "yes", followed by her tongue darting temptingly across my skin. "I think about you sucking me off," I said, putting my mouth to her ear. "I think about you on top of me. I think about you grabbing my hair and swearing like a fucking marine while I eat you out, and then I come all over myself." I sat up, enjoying how heavily she was breathing. "But I doubt you're here in the middle of the night 'cause you want to watch, so I'm gonna brush my teeth and I'll be right back."

"Okay," she said. She sounded pleasantly dazed, and also like the delay wasn't okay at all.

When I rejoined her, her nightclothes had found their way to the floor beside my bed. The night was warm enough that she was sitting on the bed instead of buried in my blankets. I paused before joining her, admiring what I could make out of her naked silhouette.

"Sorry," she said, coming into better focus as I lay down. She wiggled her fingers in a way that might have been coy if she hadn't been frowning in annoyance. "Waking you at five A.M. wasn't my first thought." The frown softened without disappearing. "Well, it was my first _thought_. Just not the first thing I tried."

I made a quick, more blatantly suggestive finger motion of my own, raising my eyebrows at her as I asked, "And you didn't wake me up so _I_ could watch? That's cold." George wrinkled her nose at me. "Anyway, given some of the less-pleasant things you've dragged me out of bed for, I'm not gonna complain about you waking me up and begging for sex." I grinned. "Some things are worth losing sleep over."

The teasing resulted in George tackling me as hard as she could--which wasn't that hard, since I was already on my back. She landed half on top of me with her hands on my biceps, like she could keep me pinned.

I smiled up at her, knowing she'd take my amusement in stride. Long, hard-won experience said that if she'd been trying to seriously wrestle me she would've planted a knee in my gut, and George's knees and elbows are _sharp_. I appreciated the restraint, even though the odds were she'd only refrained because knocking the wind out of a guy doesn't tend to do much for the mood.

"I'm pretty sure I get some leeway to tease you," I said.

"Why's that?"

I broke her grip and flipped her onto her back. A stranger might have mistaken the small sound that caught in her throat for distress. I know better.

"Because you make fun of me when this happens to me." There was no point trying to affect hurt--she'd see right through it--so I sounded chipper when I leaned in close and said, "So it's only fair that I get to tease you when what you really want is a nice hard cock in you, not _me_."

"I don't see a difference." She was demonstrating a skill of the sort you can't put on a resume: the ability to sound supremely irritated while squirming deliciously under me. "It's not like I'd settle for anyone else."

She meant that more literally than you might think. She's told me more than once that it's rare for her to feel more than a flicker of attraction to anyone but me, and she's never said it like it was meant to be a turn-on or even a reminder that she's _mine_ , as much as I'm hers. It's just a list item: she has brown hair; she hates being cold; misplaced commas make her crazy; and she finds the notion of fucking anyone but me off-putting at best, if not outright nauseating.

That's not how it is for me, but the end result is the same. I may appreciate a great rack as much as the next guy, but George is the only person I ever want to be with.

I kissed the tip of her nose. "I'll remember that the next time you snicker about me only wanting to get my dick wet."

"Ew, you're so crass."

"That is a _direct quote_ , George."

It was true, and she had the grace to look faintly abashed. "Was I drunk?"

"Don't go blaming booze for your potty-mouth," I said sternly.

George made a face. "Oh, fine." She pushed me off her and ran her hand down my side, stroking and then squeezing my hard-on through my boxers. I peeled them off, letting her touch without fabric in the way. The familiar warmth of her fingers made me smile. Her caresses felt like the beginning of a handjob, but I was pretty sure that was the last thing on her mind.

"How do you want it?" I asked.

"Hard." She gave me a warning look. "No teasing."

"No hours of foreplay?"

George laughed and took my hand, putting it between her legs so I could feel for myself how wet she was. "I'll pass this time, unless you think you need it."

"I imagine I can get by." My fingers slipped right into her, making us both moan. God, I love that first feel of her, every time--how she relaxes to let me in and then clenches up, like her whole body's welcoming me and inviting me to stay a while. "Hard it is," I said.

Since I'd just gotten my hand all slick, she dealt with grabbing a condom and putting it on me. We don't use them all the time, since the effectiveness rate of contraceptive implants is something like 99.5%--"if used correctly", the medical info always says, like you can screw up something that's in your system 24/7--but if she was going out of her mind because her body was keen to get knocked up, well, better extra safe than really, really sorry.

She got herself comfortable, half on her side and using one of my pillows to keep from rolling all the way onto her stomach, and I spooned up against her. Doing her from behind is neat; the angle means I can get deeper into her than any other way, and if we're on our sides it's easy to get my fingers involved if she wants the extra stimulation. Sometimes that doesn't interest her much, 'cause once we get going she wants to focus on my cock--or my fingers, or whatever--inside her; other times when we fool around she wants my full attention on her clit, and nothing in her at all. And sometimes she wants everything, either all at once or in stages, one sensation following another like we're having a multi-course meal.

This time she shook her head when I slid my free hand up her inner thigh, questioning. She curled her fingers into mine and set my hand on her hip. "Just fuck me, Shaun."

"Okay." I kissed the crook of her neck first, slow and soft, making her fidget and sigh. She always likes that, no matter what else she's in the mood for. I let my cock press right up against her, getting all slippery and warm while I rubbed back and forth, giving her a hint of penetration. It made her snarl, and _that_ made me want to tease her. But she'd asked me not to, and anything she wanted badly enough to wake me up for, I wanted to give her.

I eased a bit deeper, assessing my angles, and kissed her shoulder while she shifted restlessly. If I stayed still long enough she'd go ahead and fuck herself on me, and that'd be phenomenal, but it wasn't what she'd asked for either. Instead, I got a firm grip on her hip and held her in place while I slammed down into her.

That first thrust made her head snap back and all the breath rush out of her in a way that sounded like it hurt. I held still to give her time to adjust, time to breathe in again and let me know if it _had_ hurt. It shouldn't have, but miscalculations happen, no matter how intimately I know the parameters she likes--and I know them very, very intimately.

A couple months after we'd started sleeping together, when our parents had gone away for a few days, she asked me to fuck her as hard as I could. Trust George to ask for that more out of intellectual curiosity than desire. She wasn't especially turned on by the idea of super-rough sex, but it also didn't exactly turn her off, and she'd gotten it into her head that she wanted to see how much she could handle. For my part, I didn't think I'd be all that into it either, but if there's one thing I understand on a gut level, it's the urge to try something just to have the experience. And whatever her reasons were, she _really_ wanted it.

That was another time she'd slipped into my bed to talk to me. We didn't start experimenting until nighttime, but that morning I woke up to her telling me in loving, graphic detail how she thought it'd feel to get fucked with everything I had.

Some part of my subconscious had clearly been listening, because by the time my eyes opened I was so horny I would've happily just rolled her onto her back and gone at it. She didn't give me the chance. As soon as she saw I was awake enough to stop her if I wanted to, she started to jerk me off, still whispering wonderfully filthy things.

That day didn't start with a "good morning" or a kiss; it started with an orgasm so intense that my knees turned to jelly and my own come hit the base of my throat. After that, I didn't even have time to touch George to get her off. She was so turned on from the story she'd been spinning for me that she just pushed herself against my leg and ground down before I had enough presence of mind to do more than grab her hips and shove my thigh harder between her legs, putting real pressure on her clit while she came.

I didn't say a thing to her until she leaned close enough for me to murmur "Morning" against her lips. She laughed and kissed me and rubbed herself against me a little more, making her orgasm taper off gently, and then she nipped my lip and told me to go brush my teeth. When I got back, she'd stolen my pillow and the warm spot where I'd been sleeping, so I shrugged and flopped down on top of her, making her squeak. The next hour disappeared into an epic pillow fight, punctuated with cuddling and laughter.

I remember kissing her and thinking, _Someday every day can be like this._

What we did that night was a whole different thing.

We went to bed early and made out for a while, and I lubed us both up for good measure, and I double checked her safeword--the first time she'd ever named one, more to reassure me than herself. And then I did what she wanted, under the soft black lights that wrapped around us like another blanket. She'd offered to turn them off entirely, but the idea made my skin crawl. We'd done plenty of things in complete darkness by then, but I couldn't imagine doing something like _that_ without being able to see how she was responding.

Here's what I remember: how completely pliant and accepting she was under me. The stimulation kept me hard, but what we were doing didn't turn me on enough to orgasm if I didn't try for it. So I kept going, and George just took it, and took it, and took it. Now and then I saw the muscles in her jaw twitch when I pushed into her, like it maybe hurt but she was refusing to say so. She kissed me every time I hesitated; her hands never stopped mapping my back.

I remember the sound of our bodies coming together over and over--the sound of giving her what she'd asked for.

I remember learning how doing something out of love can feel an awful lot like violence.

And most of all, I remember her eyes. I was looking into them, into that perfect, calm trust and love, when she finally decided she'd had enough and said her word. I rolled off her so fast that she laughed about it later, that laugh of hers that's both affectionate and sharp.

Afterwards I went down on her for a long time--the X-rated version of "kiss it and make it better", and the only unadulterated pleasure we had that night. Later she fell asleep in my bed and in my arms, neither of which was typical for us. We didn't have sex again at all for the next week or so, because she wanted to be sure she wasn't sore before we got back to it.

We never repeated that exact experiment, although we talked it over at length and she concluded it had been worthwhile--she'd learned how it felt, and in the process, started to learn how rough she _did_ like it sometimes, under the influence of adrenaline or certain moods or just plain lust.

Here and now, we'd had years to fine-tune things. George didn't say anything, so I hadn't started off too roughly. She just snuggled right down in my arms and breathed comfortably, her back warm against my chest, so I kept kissing her neck and I fucked her. Hard. Just not _that_ hard.

It takes her a long time to come only from that, no matter how turned on she is. Usually I go down on her or finger her to orgasm first, or use my fingers while I'm inside her. If I don't, sometimes we can have sex until we're both worn out from taking turns doing the work and it still won't get her off. But when it does work for her, all that buildup from it taking forever means she almost blacks out when she finally comes, as much from relief as outright pleasure.

Familiarity made it easy to settle into a rhythm I could keep going for the long haul. The condom helped too, annoying as it was to have anything between our bodies; it let me give her strong, steady thrusts without having to pause every other minute to rein myself in. I still had to ease off now and then, but it made it less frustrating for both of us. Taking a break isn't always a bad thing, but with George so horny, she had a hell of a time not swearing or writhing on me to get what she wanted.

She distracted herself a little by usually being the one to tell me when to hold off. My body's an open book for her, so most of my brief pauses were happening because _she_ felt how close I was getting to orgasm. Each time, she said, "A little more, a little more", getting me to the very brink before saying "wait." Dragging me right to that edge turns her on like nobody's business; there've been times when she's spent _hours_ at it, with me getting more and more desperate--and helplessly aroused by the way she smiles while she does it.

Not that she was exercising anything like that kind of control now. What she _was_ doing was reaching back and burying her fingers in my hair, keeping me from moving my head much. Her familiar urge to hold onto me no matter what position we're in didn't really help with my self-control either, but it's so satisfying that stopping her would be the last thing I'd want to do--assuming there'd even be a way to stop her without resorting to tying her hands.

That was fine by me--it's hot when she grabs me, and I could still get at the back and side of her neck with my mouth. She let me adjust her a little anyway, so that I could reach the sensitive spot behind her ear and catch the lobe between my lips.

She didn't make much noise; we usually don't, in the name of discretion, which makes it a treat when we're home or traveling alone and get to be as loud as we want. There are some things we only do then, because there're some things you shouldn't have to stay quiet through. Either way, it's good.

You'd think it's that easy because sex is generally a good thing if you're doing it at all right, but I don't think it's _just_ that. I think every way we do it is good because we've never tried to please anyone but the two of us. We've always given and gotten feedback on every touch; we've never been hesitant about telling each other what we need, in bed or anywhere else. Years before we even kissed, we knew everything there was to know about loving each other.

"Tell me when you want me to stop," I said when I paused for maybe the fifth or sixth time, meaning _Stop for real_. I exhaled each word over her ear, making her back arch.

George lifted her head just far enough from the pillow to say, "I will." Her voice was mild and relaxed, almost like she was talking in her sleep or totally detached from the way her hand kept clenching in my hair. I could feel her heart pounding as hard as mine, but that hammering pulse might've belonged to someone else entirely. "Not yet. Is that okay?"

I nuzzled the base of her skull before kissing along her hairline. "It's very okay."

"I'm closing my eyes now," she added. Outside, the sun was coming up for real. My room was still dim enough not to hurt her eyes if she squinted, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Gotcha," I murmured, and went back to fucking her, trying to think about anything but how badly I needed to come. I was quivering with it by then, unbalanced by the whip-crack of heat at the base of my spine, all my muscles burning with need that'd melt away like sugar into scalding black coffee if I just _let_ it. My lips kept moving restlessly on George's neck while I gorged my senses on the warmth and smell of her, my throat and balls all tight with it--like I needed to scream, tear out of my skin.

But it was a challenge, just like it was every time we were together like this, and I've never been one to back away from a challenge. _Just keep going, but don't think too hard about the greedy way her muscles keep squeezing my cock, or about the way she's gasping and straining in my arms--_

Relief came when George shifted against me with a sigh, her skin sticking comfortably to mine, and said, "I'm clearly not going to get off from this tonight, and I think I'll feel okay now." She moved my hand from her hip to her mouth. "So stop thinking about me."

I laughed shakily into her hair. "Want to rephrase that?"

"Nope. You knew what I meant." Her lips grazed my fingertip. "Want me to--?"

I swallowed hard. "Yeah." Not like I needed the help, but I wasn't about to say no. George has her doubts about the popular notion that guys are inherently more visually oriented than girls, but it's _really_ true for me, and she likes taking advantage of it. She squeezed my wrist, rubbing her thumb against my palm as she turned her head.

It was an awkward angle for her, but it gave me a perfect line of sight on the way she took two of my fingers all the way into her mouth, right to the base. She made this soft little whimpering sound like she was still eager for me--which she was. She'd gotten what she'd been craving, and now she wanted me equally satisfied.

Watching her fellate my fingers made me tighten my other hand on her, and _that_ made her moan and turn her head a fraction more--and clench her pussy all around me. I ached to kiss her neck again, keep the taste of her skin fresh in my mouth. But even more, I wanted to watch and drink in every detail as she breathed and swallowed and gasped and sucked at my fingers, urging me to fuck blindly into her.

All that hunger inside me gave way at once while George took it, took _me_ ; she kept kissing my fingers after she stopped sucking them, after I stopped clutching at her like I was drowning. I buried my face against her shoulder and kept holding on, feeling her relaxing and settling.

There's nothing else in the world like those first moments of afterglow, while my heart slows and my senses are totally overwhelmed with our pure physicality, how deeply connected to her I feel. You can say whatever you want about brain chemistry and hormones and endorphins or whatever, and I bet it's all fascinating, but the only explanation I need is that George and I are together.

I stayed cuddled against her in that euphoric daze while she moved on to kissing my wrist, tender in a way that made me shiver. Eventually she rolled over to face me, curling up tight around herself in my arms. We were both a mess, our thighs streaked liberally with her wetness and our skin sticky with sweat and kisses, but less so than we would've been without the condom--although that convenience came with the price tag of needing to let go of her to deal with it. Which I would. In a minute.

"How do you feel?" I asked, kissing her forehead.

Eyes still squeezed shut against the faint but growing light, she gave me a gratifyingly satisfied smile. "Mmm, much better. That was perfect."

"Any time you need a booty call, you know where I am."

"The proximity is very convenient." She slipped a hand behind my head, stroking the edges of my ear with her thumb, and pulled me into a kiss. "Thank you."

"I live to service you," I said solemnly. George cracked up, pressing her mouth against my neck to muffle her laughter.

I untangled myself from her long enough to get the condom off and into a biohazard bag. It's nice to have one kind of discretion covered for us--anything that's readily disposable and involves bodily fluids is _supposed_ to disappear without a trace.

That accomplished, I put my hand on George's back, feeling the drowsy way she was breathing. "Hey," I said. "If you fall asleep here, how can I tease you for using me for sex and abandoning me to my cold, lonely bed?"

She wasn't too far gone to not have a snappy comeback. "Your cold, lonely bed where the sheets smell like sex and torment you with the memory of having once had a warm, horny woman beside you?"

"Got it in one." 

She yawned, dropping her arm over her closed eyes. "What if I don't want to be teased?"

"Then you say you're gonna sleep here and I pull the blackout curtain and come back to bed. Or option three, you never make up your mind and I tease you for _that_."

"Oh." She lifted her arm a fraction, keeping it between her eyes and the window, and squinted up at me through her lashes. This time her smile was sheepish. "Sorry. Come to bed."

"Okay." I tugged the blackout curtain into place, darkening my room so abruptly that I was completely blinded by the transition.

George sat up and caught my outstretched hand easily in hers, half-pulling, half-guiding me down onto my bed beside her. She kissed me before I could say anything, all soft lips and gently probing tongue, lavishing love on my mouth. "Good night to you too," I murmured when she'd kissed me to her satisfaction. "How long until we have to be up again?"

"An hour and twenty minutes. Still love me?"

"Ask me again in an hour and twenty-five minutes," I said.

Her laughter was the last thing I heard before I fell back to sleep.


End file.
